


Returning to Life

by rugbytackler



Category: The A-Team (2010)
Genre: AU, M/M, Napoleonic Era - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 23:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rugbytackler/pseuds/rugbytackler
Summary: Colonel John "Hannibal" Smith has returned back to his estate at the end of the Napoleonic Wars, injured and wanting nothing more than to retire from society and lick his wounds in peace. His new groom, Templeton Peck, puts a spanner in those plans.
Relationships: Templeton "Faceman" Peck/John "Hannibal" Smith
Comments: 17
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Napoleonic period is my favourite historical time period. The tempatation to put Hannibal and Face into that setting was too much to resist.

Hannibal Smith was not happy. In fact, he was seething. He was back in England, back home after fighting across Portugal, Spain and France for the past eight years, and he hated it. England wasn’t home; England was a place where expectation of his birth weighed heavily on him. Home was a tented camp, where fires burned, and the smell of meat cooking drifted in the air. Where he could hear any number of different accents and languages, catch snippets of a hundred tales. It was where sergeants shouted, and men grumbled, and the women carried on as stoic as ever. Where children ran in between parading men. Where days were spent marching, and horses would pull artillery guns on heavy carriages. Home was where he knew his place, and he knew his men, and he knew his duty.  


England would never be home.

And yet here he was. Travelling the roads that were taking him away from London and back to the family home. The war with Napoleon was finally over for good, Wellington had won, and the Army and Horseguards had gotten everything they needed from Colonel John “Hannibal” Smith and he was now free to enjoy his life. That’s what they’d told him as they handed him his papers and thanked him for his loyal service. For putting his life on the line time and again against the French, for protecting British interests, for serving his government. And it all ended with a medal, a handshake and he was thrust back into civilian life with not an idea of how to move forward.

Of course, he knew he had it better than most of his men, who were returning to a country that didn’t want to face the realities of their famous soldiers. England didn’t want to see the scars of the war fought on the continent; they were happy to celebrate from afar but when reality came knocking, doors refused to open. Colonel Smith still had his family name, his estate, his money. But returning to a life of a civilised gentleman had never held any appeal for Hannibal. Which was exactly why he had joined the army in the first place, much to the horror of his family.

It didn’t matter now anyway, both parents had passed away whilst he was in Spain. He now had control of the estate, and the fortune they had left for him. His sister, living out in the Americas with her husband, had no need or want of the old house. It was purely for John and how he wished he had a brother who could take it from him and leave him free.

Not that there was anywhere for him to go. He’d been injured at Waterloo, a rogue bullet catching him in the knee, and causing him to now need a stick to walk. The army didn’t want him, and Hannibal resigned himself to a life back in England.

The week he had spent in London sorting out his business had been horrific; at least his estate was in the countryside. He couldn’t stomach the society in London, the way people fawned around him as a war hero, invited him to parties and gatherings and tried to parade him round as their newest pet whilst ignoring the wounded and homeless infantry men out on the streets begging for help. He’d concluded his business with his financiers as quickly as he could, and left on the first post carriage back to Leicestershire, his letter to his house steward only having left the previous day.

If he was lucky, he might beat it back. He didn’t want a fuss, he wanted to retreat into the estate and the surrounding countryside and lick his wounds for a short while. He was thankful that most of the staff remained from his youth; they knew him and he hoped that his returning wouldn’t be causing much of a fuss.  


The carriage jolted heavily on the road, and his leg spasmed against the treatment. He sat back in the padded seat, and tried to ignore the pain, breathing deeply and focusing on the countryside passing him by. He wished he could have ridden but his knee wasn’t healed enough yet. The doctors were optimistic that the pain would recede, and he hadn’t had to have his leg amputated which was a small mercy. But the slow pace of recovery rankled him. He hated to be curtailed.

The coach to Leicester took the whole day; he would travel on to Melton in the northeast of the country and to where his estate was the next day. A room at the local tavern was procured easily enough, and he found a quiet table at the back of the main room where he could eat a hearty meal in peace. The noise of others talking around him was comforting; it was better than the cold, hard silence of his rooms in London, and reminded him of evenings spent in camps in the Spanish countryside, where luxuries were few and far between and he would listen to his men entertaining themselves around various campfires. His bed was passable, he’d slept in worse on the campaign, and when he woke the next morning, he found he was feeling more refreshed. It must be that country air.

A carriage was heading to Melton that morning; from there he could send word to the estate if they had not already received his post. He would be home in time for dinner. The sun was warming the air as the carriage set off; he was the only passenger which suited him. He travelled light, taught by his men despite the trappings of wealth that came with being a Colonel. He’d always preferred the company of the infantry men, rather than the fawning of officers, who looked for favours and promotion; he found it easier to speak with the men; he’d never learnt the skill of what topics were acceptable in society. Give him a battle and he could easily speak for hours about the tactics, the weaponry, the different values of the infantry, artillery and cavalry. Ask him to speak on the latest fashion, the newest club, and he would clam up and be hopelessly awkward.

As he neared Melton, the countryside started turning more familiar; he recognised more of the land, the trees and rivers that still stood from since he’d last been here. It loosened the tightness in his chest. Despite the fact that he never felt he could call this place home, it was still comforting in its familiarity. If he couldn’t live in the campaign trail, here was the best place for him. Far enough away from high society that he could live in peace and quiet.

The carriage turned into the village, and the market place was busy with vendors and shoppers, young girls darted into the ribbons shop full of excitement, maids and cooks haggled with farmers and shopkeepers alike about prices, children ran round the square in excitement despite their mothers cries. Hannibal stepped out the carriage, into the familiar melee, leaning heavily on his cane as his leg protested the movement after his prolonged inactivity.

He limped around the carriage, nodding his thanks as the driver handed down his bags to a waiting porter. There were two other carriages waiting outside the inn; one simple and open-topped, a young lady already seated there, with an older woman deep in conversation with the driver. The other carriage was larger, with black paint and a silver edge to the doors and windows. There were two horses harnessed at the front, a young man standing with them, stroking the nose of the grey beast furthest from him. He edged forwards, skirting the smaller carriage, heading for the door to the inn to see if any messages had been left for him. The boy stepped out from behind the horse’s nose and Hannibal felt his breath catch in his throat. He was beautiful.

Caramel hair curled around his ears, a smile tugging at his mouth as the horse nickered to him softly, blue eyes, such blue eyes, full of kindness as he soothed the beast. Long nimble fingers whispered over the horse’s head, petting gently as he spoke quietly.

Hannibal took an involuntary step back, the heat curling low in his stomach at the sight of the young man. This was… unexpected. This was something that was supposed to be far from his life here, and yet knowing this young man presumably lived somewhere nearby, was someone that Hannibal would potentially see during his life here, well, he felt staggered and unsteady on his feet.

“Colonel Smith, sir!”

The voice broke through the swirling maelstrom in his head and he turned instinctively towards the inn door, where the voice had hailed from. There stood safety and security, in the form of his old steward, Mr Carson.

“Mr Carson,” Hannibal started for him, leaning heavily on his cane. “You got my note.”

“Yes, sir. We have the carriage here. With your leg, I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for riding,” Carson moved to meet him.

“The carriage will be fine for now. The boy?” he nodded towards the horses and the boy who was now standing tall beside them, staring straight at Hannibal, his bright eyes curious.

“Templeton Peck, sir. Your groom sir. Wilson had to leave at the end of last year, his arthritis was too bad. I wrote to you about it, sir,” Carson said, motioning to the Colonel’s baggage sitting beside the carriage. Peck was there in a moment, taking the bags away to be stored on the back of the carriage.

“I’m sure you did, Carson. Letters were slow in arriving if they ever did. I imagine I shall get your post some time in the near future,” Hannibal said, humour evident in his voice.

“Shall we get going, sir? Or do you need anything while we are in town?”

“No, nothing,” he replied shortly. He eyed the carriage, recognising it now as his father’s old favourite; it was bigger than the post carriage, higher up off the ground and it wouldn’t be easy for his leg.

“A hand, sir?” The soft voice took him by surprise. Peck had returned to his side silently and stood just behind him.

Humiliation burned through his chest, the heavy weight of his injury and his uselessness clawing at him, and he snapped at the boy before he could even think, “I can manage!”

Peck stepped back, a flash of horror on his face before he schooled himself.

“Of course, sir. Sorry, sir.”

He was gone before Hannibal could offer an apology for his behaviour, and shame flooded him. The boy had only been offering to help; it wasn’t his fault that Hannibal felt useless, felt on edge in this new world. He took hold of the carriage door, and heaved himself up, almost collapsing onto the seat as his knee crumpled beneath him. It was sheer bloody mindedness that kept him from falling and he thrust his cane away from him as he collected himself. Carson closed the door gently behind him and went to join Peck at the front of the carriage. With the slightest jolt, the carriage started to move.

Hannibal spent the whole journey immersed in his embarrassment at his own behaviour. Peck was just a boy, one who had seen that Hannibal was struggling and had quietly and discreetly offered his help. In return, Hannibal had snapped at him, made such a rude and unforgivable first impression and humiliated the boy in return.  
It was not Peck’s fault that he was sore, and hurt, tired from incessant time spent in London and wanting to retreat to his own solitude to lick his wounds. He resolved to apologise, to make amends with the boy when they arrived at the estate, and to his surprise, so caught up in his own emotions, they were arriving there now. The carriage swung down the drive and Hannibal got his first proper look at his childhood home in seven years.

The grounds were as impeccable as ever, the lake glimmering off in the distance under the sun’s rays, and the front lawn neatly shorn. The house stood proudly, the staff waiting outside for his return on the main steps.

Hannibal resigned himself to his fate; his staff were proud and loyal. They wanted the proper ceremony of a returning master, and after his behaviour with Peck, Hannibal wanted to redeem himself. He would undertake the ceremony due to them, he would inspect the grounds and the house and assure them that everything was to his liking. Cook would prepare him an evening meal, and he would retreat into his study and let them get on with the smooth running of his estate. He wasn’t needed here, not really.

The carriage came to a smooth halt and Carson was there in an instant, the door opening on the side not facing the house to spare Hannibal any embarrassment. A small set of steps were placed down, and Hannibal gathered his cane, gripped the side of the door and made it down without falling. Carson was looking in the other direction, giving instruction to Peck who was handing down baggage to one of the waiting man servants who would take them to his rooms. He took a halting step towards Peck, but the boy glanced at him, gave a short nod and then told Carson he would take the horses away and make sure the carriage was properly secured.  
Before Hannibal had a chance to open his mouth to protest, the carriage was moving away and Carson was motioning him forward, silently asking him to play his part in this production. With a heavy sigh, a last glance at the lithe form driving the carriage with such ease, Hannibal moved forward and found a smile for Cook and her kitchen maids.

His conversation with Peck would have to wait until tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay; life is being life and so updates may be sporadic.

In fact, he didn’t make it down to see Peck until a full week had passed. That first day he had spoken with all the house staff, and Carson had taken him a tour of some of the changes that had been made in his absence. He’d managed about halfway through until his leg became unbearable and then he had retired to his study. A dinner had been brought for him, and he’d just about managed to hobble up the stairs to his lone bedroom. The candles had provided some warmth, along with a fire burning in the hearth, but Hannibal still felt desolate as he had settled down to a night of silence. 

His sleep wasn’t peaceful; the pain from his knee tugged at his dreams and each night he was haunted by a pair of piercing blue eyes that looked at him filled with hurt and disappointment. He knew exactly who those eyes belonged to. He wanted to apologise, to head down to the stables, but there was business in the house to attend to and duty always came first.

Carson had finished his tour with the improvements, all in good taste and some of them desperately needed. His parents’ belongings then needed to be sorted out; what items to keep, what things to send to his sister, what items to sell. That had taken another few days, with old memories stealing over him of happier times. Cook had commandeered some of the next day to plan meals and menus, and he’d been taken around the gardens that were near to the house, where the gardener and his young helper had talked him through the different plants and flowers that were in bloom, along with the estate’s vegetable patch.

Then he’d had to visit the estate’s tenants, to check on their houses, reassure them that their homes would remain and that he had no plans to change that. The farms they attended looked healthy; fields blooming under the summer skies, animals well fed and content in their pastures.

Finally, after seven full days, Hannibal awoke to a day where nothing was planned for him. He lay in bed a little later than usual, before taking a leisurely breakfast in the library overlooking the gardens behind the house. The house was still too quiet, too empty apart from the soft movements of his staff as they attended to their duties but at least he was starting to take control of his own life again.

Today was the day; he would head down to the stables and try and catch Peck and apologise for their inauspicious beginning. He would inspect the horses, and the carriages and then perhaps his dreams wouldn’t be haunted by those eyes.

He collected his cane and headed out through the kitchen door. The sun was warm; England really was going through a glorious summer as if the weather was also celebrating Wellington’s victory over Napoleon. The warmth helped ease the pain in his leg however, so he was grateful for it. The path down to the stables was almost hidden off the main lawn and it was quiet as he limped along. He made a mental note to visit the doctor in town to see if he could hurry the healing of his wound along; he was so tired of being slow.

As he neared the stables, he could hear the noises of horses moving about. This was familiar; both from his childhood and from the war. Horses were a constant in his life; his first horse had been a sweet-tempered mare who he had absolutely adored. From then on, he’d had a succession of different animals until he’d joined the army. His horse at Waterloo had been shot out from under him, a waste of a good animal who had been bred for war, and then with his injury, he hadn’t had a chance to think of purchasing another animal. He wondered if there were more than the two he had seen pulling the carriage a week past.

As he rounded the corner, he could see the large stone stable block and the paddock beside it. There were three horses there, the grey that Peck had been tending to at the carriage, a beautiful bay following it, and an older black horse, with white around its muzzle. They were all out in the paddock together, the two younger horses trotting together in some sort of game. The older horse stood by the fence, quiet and peaceful, watching Hannibal with solemn eyes, as his companions whickered to each other behind him.

Hannibal moved forward, and watched the ears flick towards him. He reached the fence and held out a hand, letting the animal acclimatise to him as he gazed in amazement. He could barely believe it; this was Captain, the last horse he had had before leaving for the army, when he was still just a young man. He must be getting on in years now, but he was as regal as Hannibal remembered him.

“Hello, old boy,” Hannibal whispered to him, letting the horse move towards him. His hand moved up, reaching out to cup the nose gently and scratch lightly. Captain whickered in pleasure and leant his head more firmly into Hannibal’s hand. “It’s good to see you, it’s been a long time, old friend.”

He stood there, leaning heavily on his cane in one hand, the other stroking his old horse, finding that ticklish spot behind his ears that made him whinny, and that brought a real smile to Hannibal’s face.

“Is that you making all that noise, Captain?”

The voice startled him, and he turned, watching as Peck came out from the stables, a bucket and broom held in his arms. The relaxed smile on his face froze when he saw Hannibal, and he almost dropped the bucket.

“Sorry, sir, sorry. I didn’t realise you were heading down here this morning.” He leant the broom against the stable wall, and placed the bucket beside it, before brushing at his clothes, trying to get rid of some of the hay clinging to him to make himself more presentable.

“No,” Hannibal said, “I’m the one who should be apologising.”

Peck looked up at that, his eyes almost bluer in the sunshine and Hannibal felt his heart skip a beat. His white shirt was loose at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing off golden skin and strong muscle. His loose black pants were marred with dust from the hay, and his boots looked well worn and comfortable. His hair was in slight disarray from the work he had obviously been doing, and he tried to smooth it down as he stared at Hannibal.

“You, sir? Why, sir?”

“I was unimaginably rude to you when we first met; you were only trying to help and there I was, being a brute and losing my temper. I apologise; it had been a long journey in less than ideal comfort from Leicester and I let my temper flare. It was not the impression I had hoped to give.”

Peck watched him for a long moment, and Hannibal shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“There’s nothing to apologise for, sir. I understand you were hurting. I should have known my place, also. For that, I apologise.”

Hannibal shook his head. “You have nothing to apologise for, you were offering assistance, it was the right thing to do.”

“But still, sir-”

“Let us leave the matter there, if we are to disagree on it. I will accept your apology if that is what you wish, but I want it known that I feel there is no need for an apology from you,” Hannibal said, firmly.

Peck mulled over his words for a long moment. “If that is what you wish, sir. Then the matter is forgotten from me also.”

Hannibal smiled at him. “Thank you. Now tell me, how does old Captain fare?”

It was the right thing to say, Peck was successfully distracted and eager to talk about his beloved charges, and he joined Hannibal at the fence. He told Hannibal that Captain now suffered from some arthritis due to his old age, but he was as stubborn and proud as ever, and liked nothing more than spending his days outside in the sunshine. He wasn’t ridden now, and spent his retirement in a leisurely fashion.

“He’ll be glad to see you home, sir,” Peck said quietly, reaching out to stroke the broad neck in front of him.

“I’m glad to see him too. I wasn’t sure if he would still be here. He was the strongest and most determined horse I ever knew; he would run for hours if I let him,” Hannibal said.

“You didn’t take him with you, when you joined the army?” Peck asked, then looked horrified that he’d overstepped his mark.

Hannibal shook his head, answering quickly so Peck would not disappear on him again. “No. He was not bred for war and I did not want him to experience it. Best to spend his days in peaceful sunshine here. Once my father had overcome over the shock of his only son becoming a military man, he bought me a cavalry horse, Medallion. He served me faithfully on the battlefield, and the ones who followed him. My last, Charlington, was shot and killed at Waterloo. I’m glad Captain was spared that.”

Beside him, Peck nodded.

“War is no place for a horse, in my opinion. Captain has enjoyed his leisure here; the most dangerous place he came across was Melton market square where he was continuously sought after for rides by the village children.”

Hannibal laughed at that. “A task he is most adapted to.” He patted the horse once more on the nose and turned to look out over the rest of the paddock. “Tell me about the rest of them; who else do we have now?”

Peck leant over the fence and gave a soft whistle; the two horses lifted their heads to look at him and then started over.

“Carson asked me last year to find two new beasts; Captain was no longer fit to pull the carriage, and Freya was sold the previous summer, to a kind family who wanted an older horse for their little girl to learn to ride on. I found these two at the market outside Leicester.”

The horses reached them and Captain side-stepped away, letting the youngsters nose their way in for Peck’s affections.

“This is Sapphire,” he said, reaching out to the grey. “She’s the calmest horse I’ve ever known, so loyal and trusting. She’ll do anything asked of her, I promise you that.”

Hannibal held out his hand again, shifting forward so the horse could approve him. Beside her, the bay nudged in, lipping at Peck’s shoulder.

“And this demanding one, this is Challenger. He was already named when I bought him, and he didn’t take to any changes. He’s besotted with Sapphire; he’s happy to follow her around all day and he loves working with her. He can be temperamental but he’s really just a softy at heart.”

Hannibal was captivated by the way Peck spoke about his animals.

“You really care for them,” he said and Peck looked at him.

“Of course, sir. They’re my life. I love my job, and I love my horses. Are they… are they suitable for the estate?”

Hannibal could understand that Peck was worried about his position; he had been the one to choose and buy the horses so it all lay on his head, no matter that Carson must have approved the funds.

“They look like fine beasts; you have a good eye. Did you grow up with horses?”

Peck flushed slightly and turned away, hiding his face behind Sapphire’s neck. “No, sir. Just a natural talent I think. Do you want to tour the rest of the stables?”

Hannibal recognised the abrupt change of topic for what it was, and he allowed it, though he stored the information away for mulling over at a later date.

As Peck walked him through the stables, pointing out the changes and additions that had been made in the years since Hannibal had last been home, Hannibal watched Peck. He was obviously very proud of the work he was doing here, and the place was as clean as a working stable could be. The tack shone, the courtyard was swept, and the carriages properly secured and well looked after. What life had this young man lived before ending up here? Hannibal had no recollection of a Peck before he had left for the war and the mystery intrigued him. Melton, his estate and the surrounding area was a small place; set in their ways and traditional, everyone know everyone else. Peck was new and he was surprised that nothing more had been said about him. It was intriguing. As Peck led him back out to the paddock, Hannibal felt his leg protesting once more.

Peck clearly noticed his discomfort, and offered him a seat in the sunshine by the paddock. Hannibal was tempted, but he knew that spending the rest of his day here would not help calm the thoughts in his head about the young man. He had hoped that a visit to the stables would ease the tension in his mind. Instead, it had only increased it. He thanked Peck for his hard work, and with a last pat to Captain’s nose and a promise to return, Hannibal started the walk back up to the main house, alone.


	3. Chapter 3

He spent the rest of the day in his study, going over the finances that were needed to keep the estate running. Money wasn’t an issue; his father had been wealthy even before he met his mother and their subsequent inheritance to Hannibal was substantial. His pay hadn’t stretched far with all the expenses that came from waging a campaign in Europe, but he had some savings of his own that could be added in. It was all a matter of keeping an eye on his funds and making sure that payments were made to the correct people and on time. It was necessary but dull work; it didn’t capture his attention and he had to force himself to focus as the day wore on.

The sun lingered well into the evening; rays slanting through the dining room windows where he sat at the head of the large empty table. He longed for company, for someone to talk to, someone to discuss the day with and relay events. He was too used to the easy conversation with his men; here the rigid structures of society prevailed and he knew Carson did not feel comfortable engaging with his master about conversational topics that were not linked to their roles.

He knew there would be society events in town; concerts and dances that he could attend. He also knew that he was seen by many in town as an eligible if older bachelor. There were plenty young ladies who were unwed and his fortune and position meant he would not go unnoticed. But he didn’t want the gentle conversation that young ladies would bring; he wanted equality and discussion, debate and being forced to think from new perspectives. He wanted a man, but that was not something that was discussed in any kind of company and it was a secret that he had kept for many years now.

He’d been tempted, occasionally, by one man or another, but nothing had ever come of anything and he’d long ago resigned himself to friendship and nothing more. War and the campaign trail had effectively kept him busy; it had taken his mind off the loneliness that threatened to encroach him in these stone walls. His future stretched out in front of him; the quiet, the solitude. It made his heart sink. The image of Peck’s warm smile as he talked about the horses flashed through his mind and Hannibal stood abruptly, pushing back from the table. He could not go there. He would not. He banished the thought, his countenance grim and foreboding, and left the room. That way only lay heartache and sadness. He would not go there.

He wanted to avoid the stables once more; keep Peck from his mind, and keep himself sane. He buried himself in his study, trying to pull together all his recollections of the campaign and write it up. It would be of interest to no one, but he wanted to do it, to record the small victories that he and his men had won, of the little things that would be so insignificant to anyone else but that meant the world to him. And although it helped and he found it cathartic, the prolonged sitting didn’t help his knee. By the end of the third day, he was in such pain that Carson demanded he call for the doctor. Hannibal relented.

The doctor visited the next day and Hannibal endured the examination. The wound to his knee looked better, the small scar from the bullet now healing nicely. It was the damage that it had left behind, the unseen damage that was causing him pain. The fact that Hannibal could no longer walk long distances, that he felt reliant on a cane that made him feel thirty years older than he was, and feel that he wasn’t in charge of his own body any more. He was recommended to move more; to not sit and wallow but use small and short walks to increase his stamina, to try exercise that wasn’t putting such weight on his knee.

“You have horses, don’t you, sir?” the doctor asked and Hannibal, already tired and in pain, nodded tersely. “Use them,” he was advised. “Short walks, plenty of breaks, no sitting cooped up in studies for prolonged periods of time, then.”

The doctor left, not realising the disarray he had brought to Hannibal’s resolve, and Carson returned from seeing him to the door.

“Shall I have Peck come to discuss a new routine, sir?”

“After lunch, if you please, Carson,” and Hannibal resigned himself to his fate.

He was out in the garden, walking a slow path around the neat flowerbeds when Peck found him.

“Carson said you were needing me, sir?” he asked and Hannibal gritted his teeth against his choice of words.

“Yes; after a visit from the doctor, I am to exercise more to help my knee recover. Short walks with the horses, but regularly, are what he has prescribed, to help take the weight off but keep me active,” Hannibal replied.

“Of course, sir. Do you have a preference of horse? And time of day?”

“The mare, Sapphire, she is the calmer of the two, is she not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we shall start with her, I fear I do not have the power to control a stronger-willed horse at the moment.” Hannibal could feel the tension creep down his shoulders as he forced himself to admit his weakness.

“Shall I bring her up after breakfast tomorrow for you?” Peck asked.

“To the back door,” Hannibal confirmed, “and… I feel I shall need a step. Do we have one?”

“I believe so, sir, I will look it out.”

“Thank you,” Hannibal said and he paused. Peck seemed to sense this and he waited, patient. “I fear… I fear that I will be unpleasant during this time. I do not do well with limitations, especially my own personal ones. Frustration will be quick to come and I wish you to know that if I say anything injust, I do not mean it. My anger is only with myself.”

He couldn’t explain to Peck that the groom was a likelier target for his anger because of Hannibal’s confusion and attraction towards the young man. That these feelings could bleed quickly into others, and he would most likely bear the brunt of Hannibal’s frustration, purely for existing. It was easier to control himself around others who he felt more comfortable, more safe.

Peck nodded slowly. “I can understand, sir. I promise you, nothing you say will make me wish to quit my post here.”

Hannibal looked at him, a little surprised at the steel tone behind those words, the boy’s face serious.

“Nothing, sir,” Peck promised again and Hannibal found himself nodding in reply before he could even process the thought.

“Until tomorrow then, sir,” Peck ducked into a short bow and then turned, heading back into the foliage that surrounded them and disappearing from Hannibal’s view.

He managed to pull himself together, to return to the house and take a cup of tea in the library. Peck’s words plagued him. He knew what he wanted them to mean, that Peck wanted to stay here for him, that he would stay here, no matter what happened, for Hannibal. But he couldn’t mean that. He barely knew the man; two conversations over the span of a week did not initiate that kind of feeling for the master of the house. Surely, it was just that Peck was a smart young man, he had a good job and a future here, and he did not want to throw that away. It was just that, just that he wanted to assure Hannibal that he was loyal, that was it. Hannibal had just told him that he may speak unfavourably to him during the riding sessions. He was presumably assuring Hannibal that he would not be so shocked as to leave his position. That must be it. The strange tone of his voice must have been Hannibal imagining it. There was nothing more to it.

The next morning dawned bright and clear once more. True to his word, Peck arrived with Sapphire at the back door promptly after breakfast. The horse stood quiet and patient, as Peck fussed around her, adjusting the girth of the saddle, fiddling with the reins, all the time speaking softly to her. Hannibal watched from the window of the kitchen, warmth stealing through him at the scene. Movement from behind him in the kitchen brought himself back together and he stepped away from the window to the door instead.

“Good morning, sir,” Peck greeted him jovially, one hand holding Sapphire steady.

“Good morning, Mr Peck,” Hannibal returned, eyeing the height of the horse as he shifted forward.

The use of the kitchen door had been strategic; it would take more than a step to help Hannibal mount a horse now. The kitchen door already had a raised step, with the additional step that Peck was now positioning for Hannibal, it was just about bearable to stand and swing his leg over. Sapphire remained quiet and steady as he did so, adjusting his seat on the saddle and leaning forward to take the reins.

His knee throbbed from where it rested against the stirrup, and he painfully lifted the joint, trying to slot his foot into metal hold. Peck was there in an instant, holding it steady and allowing Hannibal to fit his boot in.

“Does that feel comfortable, sir?” Peck asked, standing by Hannibal’s knee and looking up at him.

The sunlight caught his face, making his hair glow and his eyes gleam. Hannibal was transfixed for a brief moment before Peck’s question caught up with him.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” he managed to reply, busying himself with gripping the reins properly and leaning forward slightly to pat the patient horse on the neck. She shifted under him and Peck soothed her with a gentle hand.

“I thought, perhaps for the first day or so, that I walk with you? Just in case,” Peck said, looking awkward at making the suggestion.

It was difficult to admit, but Hannibal could see sense in the idea. Even nudging his heels to start the horse moving was painful; using his legs to control her if she became upset or frightened was going to be nigh on impossible. It was better to be safe than sorry.

“That would seem sensible,” he replied, trying to curtail his curt tone.

Peck flashed him a quick smile and headed back to the front of the horse, placing a guiding hand on her bridle and steering her down one of the lesser used paths in the garden.

“I don’t want to risk the gardener’s wrath by ruining his flowerbeds; Sapphire is gentle but she has a particular taste for flowers,” Peck said as they walked, making Hannibal huff in amusement.

“He is most dedicated to the garden, that is true,” he replied. “I fear I disappoint him when I am not as interested in his plans as he may expect me to be.”

“Surely that is better for him, is it not? No one to argue with over how the garden should look, a free reign to plant and grow as he sees fit, sir?”

“You make a fair point, however I feel that my lack of enthusiasm regarding his choices dampens the joy he feels about the freedom of his choice. Either that, or my lack of company means that there is no one to admire his handy work.”

Peck glanced back at him for a moment before turning back to the path before them. “You do not desire company here, sir?”

Hannibal shifted with the horse’s movement, mulling over his response. “Yes and no; it is complicated.”

Peck let him gather his thoughts and they walked in silence once more.

“The company I desire here may not be found so easily,” he started, gripping the reins tightly. “The kind of conversation that a young lady can provide is… let me say that I do not do well in those situations. Society has strict rules, and they are rules that I fail to follow, not for a lack of wanting,” he sighed a little, in frustration. “There are so many cues, nuances that I fail to pick up on. What comment can I give on music, ribbons, grand balls? Give me a battlefield, give me a campaign trail, let me plan out attacks, defences, baggage shipments even! Those I see more clearly and feel more sure footed on.”

He wondered if he’d said too much as silence consumed them both again, only the gentle breath of the horse, and the sounds of the garden around them.

“I think I understand, sir,” Peck broke the silence and Hannibal jolted a little on the horse. She whickered in response and Peck looked back to check on him. Hannibal waved at him to continue.

“Society can be cruel, and ever-changing. Give me a horse any day, for they are straightforward in their conversation and easy to please.”

Hannibal laughed and leant forward to stroke the ears before him. “Of that you are most correct. A much more honest companion.”

Peck smiled at him and the warmth that bloomsedaround Hannibal had nothing to do with the strengthening sun.

They finished their walk in comfortable silence and when Peck offered Hannibal his hand to help him dismount, Hannibal took it with no hesitation. He thanked Peck, stroked Sapphire’s soft nose and returned into the house.

The desire to avoid Peck, to avoid the temptation and protect his lonely, aching heart, was being overtaken by the need to get to know this young man better. Where had he been born? Was he educated? How did he get to be here? It was dangerous, and it would only cause him pain in the future, but Hannibal was going to find out.

They established a routine and his rides with Peck were the highlight of Hannibal’s day. He started to feel the exercise working; his knee, whilst still painful, could manage longer walks and by the time each day ended, he could feel that he wasn’t quite as dependent on his cane as he had been. Hannibal felt settled, maybe not happy, but settled with where he was. Peck seemed happy to converse with Hannibal, when they were alone. He kept propriety whenever another member of staff was in earshot, but when it was just the two of them, he obviously felt comfortable enough to speak with Hannibal.

As he was eating his breakfast, two weeks later, Carson brought in the post, handing over two letters to Hannibal. One was clearly from his banker and he put it aside to deal with it later. The other was in a hand he didn’t recognise, addressed to himself. He undid the wax seal and opened the paper.

It was an invite, from Mr and Mrs Margate, who were holding a dance that Saturday to celebrate the summer and who were wishing to hold it in Colonel John Smith’s honour, for his bravery and heroics during the Peninsula Wars. Hannibal felt his heart sink. It was his idea of a horrendous evening but he knew that he must accept. To do so would be to bring humiliation to the Mr and Mrs Margate, who he had known for most of his life and who were kind and gentle people. No, he would send a note with his grateful acceptance, and he would endure a night of local society. It would be better than London parties at least.

He told Peck about the dance as they walked through the gardens once more. Peck still had a hand on Sapphire’s bridle, but it was more out of habit than it being needed. Sapphire knew the routine they usually took, and she could walk it by herself.

“You have your leg, sir,” Peck pointed out. “Use your injury to escape the dancing if that is what you are worried about.”

Hannibal smiled. “That is true. Though it is not the dancing that worries me.”

“The company?” Peck asked.

“Better than London company,” Hannibal replied. “The company should be tolerable, as long as the mothers do not try to set me up with their daughters. Being the centre of attention – that is the bit I am less comfortable with.”

“The great Colonel Hannibal Smith, worried about being honoured,” Peck said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“I am not good at being the centre of attention,” Hannibal muttered mutinously and Peck laughed. “However, for one night I can endure it.”

“Surely, once you start attending social gatherings, the dinner invitations will come flooding in?” Peck asked.

“Please, don’t.” Hannibal looked horrified and it made Peck laugh again. “I want to return to my life of solitude, only a brief foray into company.”

“Well, if you are rude enough, you shall not be invited back. Step on a lady’s toe, brush off a mother and you should be shunned for a few months at least,” Peck said.

“Such good advice,” Hannibal told him. “I’ll be needing the carriage on Saturday.”

“Of course, I’ll shine it up special for our local hero,” Peck said, grinning at Hannibal’s noise of annoyance.

It made it more bearable, the thought that Peck would be there as his groom for the evening. That Peck would most likely be the last person that he spoke to that evening as he was being driven back from the hall. It almost made him look forward to it.


	4. Chapter 4

The night of the dance Hannibal found himself once more dressed in his parade uniform. The girls in the kitchen had done a fine job of washing and pressing it, the red of his jacket as bright as it had ever been against the silver epaulettes on his shoulder, the crown shining to denote his rank. It had been a long time since his white breeches were so dazzling, usually covered in mud or dust from Europe, and the leather of his long riding boots had been worked until they shone. He left the hat, and his sword was exchanged for his cane, but being back in uniform reminded him of happier times. This was where he was comfortable. At least he had this to hide behind during the dance, to remind himself who he was.

He straightened his jacket and headed for the door to meet Peck and the carriage that would take him back into town.

Carson had clearly spoken with Peck as the groom was dressed smartly in his best uniform, the horses were brushed and the leather had been shined like Peck had said he would. He had brought the smaller of the carriages as it was lower to the ground; there would be no need for luggage space and Hannibal would be the only passenger. The small gesture warmed him as Peck had clearly been thinking about his comfort as well as his pride when they reached hall where the dance was being held. Peck waited a step or two removed from the carriage as Hannibal climbed in, just in case of any issues, and offered him a small smile as he closed the door.

It was a warm night, and the carriage was open-topped so Hannibal could enjoy the breeze as the horses trotted along at a smart pace. The long summer days meant there was still daylight as they passed through the estate entrance and out onto the country roads.

It wasn’t a long journey, ten to fifteen minutes, and Hannibal felt the tension in his stomach coil tighter as they neared the town. He wanted to speak with Peck, ask him about the rest of his day, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak and he felt his mouth was too dry anyway. Peck seemed to read his mood, and aside from speaking to the horses on occasion, he let Hannibal sit in silence.

The town brought more noise; men and women still out and about in the warm summer air. The hall was off the market square, and there were several carriages and horses waiting there as well dressed ladies and gentlemen descended and entered into the hall. Peck drew the carriage up into the line and glanced back at Hannibal.

“I’ll be waiting in the square, sir, if you are needing to leave early. Send a messenger and I’ll be with you in only a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Peck,” Hannibal managed to return. “I do not think I shall stay past eleven, but with my leg, it may be earlier.”

“Of course sir, I’ll be here.”

The carriage moved forward and Hannibal braced himself on the door, preparing and hoping that he would not fall and embarrass himself. They drew up to the door and Peck hopped down in an instant, moving to the side of the carriage furthest from prying eyes, opening it and flipping down the small set of steps.

He hovered beside them, ignoring Hannibal’s look, staring into the middle distance as Hannibal manoeuvred himself to the door. With his cane down on the ground, he managed to step down with only the barest of stumbles, Peck’s hand shooting out immediately before withdrawing when Hannibal righted himself without a moment’s pause.

“Thank you, Peck,” he managed to say, straightening the cuffs on his jacket.

“You’re welcome, sir. Until later.”

It sounded like a promise, and Hannibal was momentarily frozen, unable to move at the thoughts that promise gave to him. It was only when Peck gave a little bow and headed back to the driver’s seat that Hannibal was able to force himself to move. The carriage rolled away smoothly and Hannibal watched it go, wishing that he was going with it, with Peck. He pushed those thoughts away, turning himself back to the task at hand and pulling himself together, as if he was preparing for battle.  
There was another carriage waiting to pull up so Hannibal hurried as best he could towards the doormen, thanking them with a nod of his head as they pulled open the doors to the town hall. Lively music from the band assailed his ears, along with the usual noises of merriment and conversation from the group within. There was a small queue to greet Mr and Mrs Margate as hosts of the evening’s events and Hannibal stepped up to join, nodding politely at the two young men ahead of him.

“Colonel Smith!” Mr Margate exclaimed when he reached them. “So wonderful of you to accept our invitation tonight.”

Hannibal gave them a swift bow. “It was a pleasure to be asked, sir,” he replied, accepting the lady’s hand in greeting.

“Oh Colonel, how good it is to see you return to the estate,” Mrs Margate said, taking his arm gently and steering him towards the doors that held the threat of dancing behind them. “It has lain empty for so long, it is so good to see life there once more! Come, we must get you a seat and introduce you to the gathering, everyone is looking forward to making your acquaintance once again.”

Hannibal let himself to led into the main room, where he was sure a painful night awaited him.

In the end, it had not been as bad as he feared. News of his injury was clearly well known, and despite his doctor’s words, he spent most of the night sitting and conversing with the many guests who wished to speak to him. Young ladies and their mothers asked polite questions about Spain and France and the society he had seen there (very little due to the campaign but enough to encourage excitement in the young women who hadn’t stepped further than their local parish boundaries), young men asked stories about battles and glorious victories and Hannibal had not the heart to dissuade them with the reality, especially with the local militia in attendance who had no more seen a battle than the women they were looking to impress. Older men talked politics, discussing Wellington and the government and the next steps that Britain should take to remain one of the most powerful countries in the world, discussing the empire and the trade that they all benefitted from. 

There was an ample selection of food to eat, and his glass was never empty, and conversation was easy and diverting enough that time passed at a good pace. He managed one dance, a sedate number with Mrs Margate and then begged off the group of women who looked to set up their daughters with an eligible suitor. 

“Colonel Smith,” Mrs Margate and her confidantes surrounded him as he took a seat once more at the top of the hall, where he could see the whole room. “Please do tell us that you will visit us more often, there are certainly those who would enjoy your company.”

“Oh yes, Colonel Smith,” Mrs Fairweather added, leaning forward to convey her sincerity, “young men need such guidance today, and with yourself having such experience of life, it would be a great boon.”

“And your estate, being so large, you must surely be wanting for company to pass the days,” Mrs Margate continued.

Hannibal gave them a polite smile in return. “The solitude is sometimes needed and there is much to be done at the estate, with it having been vacant for so long.”

“Oh of course, solitude is sometimes needed, especially in recuperating after a war,” Mrs Mettle replied, “but not for too long, surely, sir.”

“Your lake will need fishing, if nothing else, and those gardens should be enjoyed by many!” Mrs Margate finished.

“Good woman,” Mr Margate came to his rescue, joining the conversation with ease, “give the man a chance! He has just returned for war; there is much to be done in setting up an estate to the way he wants it. I am sure Colonel Smith will be a regular at town events as soon as he has got himself situated and recovered from his injuries.”

“You are correct, sir,” Hannibal conceded, shooting the man a look of gratitude.

The women acquiesced to this, deciding to cut their losses in the face of two stubborn men, and they left them to a little peace and quiet.

“My wife,” Mr Margate confided to Hannibal, “is most interested in the lives of the many single young ladies we have here in Melton. Having our son all grown and living far from home means that her attention turns to those nearest to us. I am sure that when he provides us with grandchildren, her attention will be much diverted.”

“I thank you for your assistance; I can face down a battalion of the French without blinking an eye, but a gathering of ladies is a much feared foe.”

Mr Margate laughed at his jest, and handed him another glass of brandy. “Do you think of marrying yourself? There would be many interested young ladies who I am sure would catch your eye.”

“I am sure there would be; however they all seem so young. Perhaps war has changed me more than I realised; discussions of ribbons and lace do not hold my interest as they might have done when I was younger.”

“Come now, Smith, you speak as if you are over the hill!”

“The cane plays tricks with the mind,” Hannibal replied dryly, and Mr Margate laughed.

“When you are better, you must join us for a shoot; show us all what a Colonel of his majesty’s army can do.”

Hannibal nodded. “Of course, when I can better walk around the countryside at leisure.”

The dancing continued, even as the hour grew later. The dancefloor was filled with young couples, the older members of society watching from the sides and commenting on those who had danced together more than once. Glancing at the clock which hung over the entrance doors, Hannibal was pleased to see that it was coming on to 11 o’clock and a time where he could make his escape without showing offence.

He stood and made his way over to where Mr and Mrs Margate were standing. Luckily, they were near the entrance, and after Hannibal had thanked them for their hospitality and promised to return to society in the near future, it wasn’t far for him to limp stiffly down the stairs to the cool night’s air.

Peck was true to his word, and the carriage was standing there, the door open and waiting as Hannibal thanked the doormen and moved towards him. Peck was already dropping down from the driver’s seat and waiting for him.

“Good evening, sir,” Peck said, a sparkle of a smile in his eyes.

“Good evening, Mr Peck,” Hannibal returned, taking a hold of the carriage door handle and pulling himself up into the carriage before collapsing down on the cushioned seat. Peck closed the door gently behind him and sprung back up, gathering the reins in one hand and settling the carriage in motion with a quick flick and a cluck of his tongue.

Peck waited until they had cleared the last house and were back on the open country roads before twisting round to look at Hannibal.

“Was it as bad as you feared, sir?” he asked, and Hannibal smiled ruefully.

“Both yes and no; everyone was very gracious and friendly, the food was hearty and the wine very palatable.”

“Did you dance?”

“Only the one, and then I pled their forgiveness with my injured leg, which all the ladies seemed to accept. The militia are in town and the officers were more than happy to take charge of dancing with all the young ladies,” Hannibal replied, marvelling at how easy it was to talk to this young man.

“Your dance partner will have been the envy of all the others, getting the only dance with the guest of honour.”

Hannibal smiled and looked at Peck as he answered. “Mrs Margate was very gracious and put up with my poor dancing skills, and in return I successfully avoided stepping on her toes.”

If he hadn’t been watching carefully, Hannibal wondered if he would have missed the release of tension in Peck’s shoulders as he listened to Hannibal. Was he relieved that Hannibal had not danced with any of the young ladies? Why would he be relieved? Concern over a potential new mistress for the estate? A change to the life he had built?

“Were you tempted back into society then, sir?” Peck asked, glancing back at the road in front of him. The horses had slowed to a walk in deference of the night, picking their way along the road in front of them with the light of the moon showing them the way.

“No,” Hannibal replied, choosing his words carefully. “I shall have to work hard to return to my life of solitude without appearing rude. Already there were offers of hunting, and fishing from Mr Margate, and the ladies trying to subtly enquire about my thoughts on marriage.”

There was no missing the stiffening of Peck’s shoulders this time and Hannibal’s heart started to hammer.

“Your thoughts on marriage, sir?” Peck asked, his voice sounding normal if not for the thread of tension in his body.

“I must have a need of company now that I have returned from war, and there were many young ladies who I was introduced to who would no doubt help me in countering my loneliness,” Hannibal said.

“I didn’t realise you were lonely, sir,” Peck said, turning back fully to face the road, turning himself away from Hannibal.

“I am not,” Hannibal replied. “I have no need of the company of a young lady; I am content in my life, in my current company.”

There was a prolonged pause, as Peck digested his words.

“A young lady would not improve your life?” he asked, hesitantly.

“I do not believe so, no,” Hannibal replied with surety. 

They travelled on in silence, passing into the estate’s grounds and pulling up outside the front door. It wasn’t until Peck was helping Hannibal down from the carriage, tiredness making his movements stiff and clumsy, that he finally spoke again.

“I am glad, sir,” Peck said softly, “if a young lady was to gain your approval, I would miss you.”

Hannibal stood in front of him, taking in the view of Peck in front of him, hair curling gently, his eyes resolute in their focus. “I would not leave you,” he said, the words falling out of him almost without his consent.

Peck made to speak, to answer those damning words that Hannibal had let loose, but the door to the house opening, spilling out harsh light that broke the moment between them with Carson silhouetted in the doorframe.

Peck took a step back, giving Hannibal a quick bow, his eyes lowered so that Hannibal could not read them. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Mr Peck.”

And with that, Peck turned and headed away from Hannibal, back to the stables.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in this - real life and writer's block are a bitch!

Despite being exhausted from the night’s events, the dancing and conversation, Hannibal struggled to sleep that night. He lay in his bed and thought about Peck’s words to him. The boy would miss him; did he think that if Hannibal entered into a marriage that he would leave the estate? It must surely be understood that Hannibal would remain at the estate and that any new bride would join him here. So what else could he have meant? That Hannibal would leave him? Peck wasn’t his to leave, was he? And then the expression on his face when Hannibal had told him that he would not leave him; he’d looked torn between hope and fearful resignation and Hannibal couldn’t understand it.

Resigning himself to getting no rest, Hannibal rose early as the sun was rising. The house was quiet at this hour and it was in this solitude that Hannibal prowled the halls, letting his mind twist and turn Peck’s words as if that would help show their meaning. The movement did nothing except increase his confusion and he headed towards the kitchen, resolving to make some tea to try and clear his head. Cook gave a start as he entered; she had only just arrived having collected eggs from the hen house for breakfast.

Hannibal was sent to sit at the table instead of helping to make the tea and he did so meekly; Cook was a formidable woman and someone Hannibal made sure to keep on his side. He accepted his mug gratefully and let the sounds of the kitchen coming to life soothe him. When the maids started to arrive, Hannibal made himself scarce again, heading out to the garden so that their work would not be disrupted by his presence.

The sun had already risen and was casting its light over the green grass, the light breeze ruffled the leaves of the various bushes as he passed them, heading without apparently realising it, for the small path that led to the stables. To Peck.

His stomach was filled with a sense of something – be it dread or anticipation at seeing his groom. Society demanded that it should be dread but Hannibal suspected that anticipation had overtaken his senses. The path rounded the corner and the stable loomed large in his vision. The horses had yet to beturned out for the morning and in the quiet Hannibal could hear the sounds of someone moving around the stable block, presumably feeding the horses or cleaning out their stalls. He paused for a moment but he had never been accused of cowardice before and he wasn’t about to start now so he moved towards the large open door.

Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight as he peered into the gloom but though he could hear movement, there was no sign of anyone.

“Hello?” he called out, and there was a muffled thud and a bitten off curse before Peck stuck his head out one of the stalls halfway down the row.

“Colonel Smith, sir,” Peck managed to say, emerging fully from the stall and brushing himself down as best he could. He was not dressed for company, his shirt untucked and loose, the sleeves rolled up to show off tanned forearms, and his trousers dirty with a hole in one knee that needed darning. His hair was wild, curls unruly and sticking to his face through the exertion of his work.

“I startled you, I apologise,” Hannibal said, moving towards him.

The horses, intrigued by their early morning visitor, stuck their heads over the stalls and nosed at him as he passed.

“No sir, it’s fine. I was just not expecting company this early,” Peck replied. “Were you needing something, sir?”

“I was looking for you, Mr Peck,” Hannibal reached him and steadied himself against the stable door. A night of little sleep had not been restful for his leg along with his night of socialising last night. He waved off Peck’s attempts to find him a seat.

“I wanted to speak to you about last night, preferably in a place where we could not be overheard. If I said anything, anything at all, that made you feel uncomfortable, I wanted to apologise. It was not my intention, I promise you that,” he paused for a moment, “I would not want you to feel uncomfortable with your role here.”

He lapsed into silence, his little speech stumbling to a halt. He wanted to say more, about how he valued Peck’s role in his staff, how he didn’t want him to leave but would that be overstepping the mark? Would that give away too much information? Was he gifting Peck with too much ammunition from this talk alone? He’d never felt this unsteady before; in war there was always a clear path, a strategy to follow and back up plans in case something happened. In society there was no such thing.

Peck was watching him closely and Hannibal tried to school himself into propriety, keep his face carefully blank and his hands on his cane to hide any traitorous shaking. Despite this, he felt like Peck could see straight through him. The silence hung between them for long moments and Hannibal was just about to speak again, to apologise once more or just turn and leave when Peck took a deep breath and spoke carefully.

“I was not uncomfortable with your words, sir. Quite the opposite.” He ducked his head from Hannibal’s gaze but after a moment continued speaking. “To know that I was wanted, am wanted here, it is comforting, so very comforting.”

Hannibal hadn’t realised he’d moved closer to the young man until he found himself reaching out to lightly touch Peck’s shoulder as he spoke.

“You are wanted, Peck, very much so,” Hannibal reassured him once more.

Peck raised his eyes to look at him and Hannibal was struck once more at the bright colour that held him in their gaze. “But wanted as a groom, or-”

He broke off abruptly at the sound of boots outside the stable and took a hasty retreat, almost stumbling over a bucket of water as Hannibal turned to see who was about to disturb them.

It was one of the girls from the kitchen, her apron held up off the ground as she moved quickly towards them.

“Colonel Smith, sir, Mr Carson sent me as quick as I could. You have visitors, sir.”

Hannibal blinked in confusion. “At this hour?” he asked, glancing back at Peck who had busied himself with the broom once more.

“Yes sir. Mr Carson has them waiting in the front room, sir. They’re asking to see you.”

“Thank you. I will attend now, please tell Mr Carson that I am on my way.”

The girl dipped into a quick curtsey and turned, heading at pace back up to the main house.

Hannibal turned back to Peck. “I must go, but I would very much like to speak to you.”

Peck nodded, his eyes downcast. “If you send word, sir, then I will come.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, his emotions and thoughts all in a flurry, so he nodded and then headed back to the house, moving as fast as his injured body would let him.

There was a buzz about the house as he entered through the kitchens, a consternation about the nature of visitors at this hour that had Cook flustered with the breakfast preparations and the two young maids in hushed discussions as they bent over pails of water, washing both cloths and dishes.

Hannibal strode through the noise and into the peace of the main house. Carson was waiting for him.

“I am sorry, sir, they were most insistent that they had to see you despite my protests at the hour of their calling.”

“Not your fault, Carson, let me deal with whatever nonsense this is,” Hannibal told him, pushing open the ornate door to the main visiting room and stepping inside.

“Hannibal!” The joyous cry made Hannibal stop short in shock as he took in the sight of his old Captain and faithful Sergeant standing in front of him.

They looked almost strange out of uniform but there was no mistaking the wild smile of Captain Murdock, nor the imposing size of Sergeant Baracus.

“Captain! Sergeant!” Hannibal cried out, recovering himself and moving forward to greet his old comrades.

They were two of the men that he was closest to in his old battalion; his captain who had methods which others might consider strange but who could rally men in the darkest of hours, and his sergeant who the men may have complained about but was one they all trusted to get them through the long marches and through the battles as long as they gave their best and kept their equipment in good condition.

“How good it is to see you, after so long a time,” Hannibal said as he accepted their handshakes and ushered them to the seats.

“And you, sir,” Murdock replied, his face wide with a smile. “Much better than when you left us after Waterloo, where we worried that you might loose the leg.”

Hannibal smiled in return; the days after the battle for himself had been an endless sea of pain and confusion and he didn’t remember much, but what few fragments he had were of Captain Murdock pressing a letter into his hand that he could read when he as more lucid, offering their best wishes for a full recovery and their thanks for his guidance during the battle. A lucky musket show, fired right as the French were retreating had caught Hannibal as he had roared his men forward for the last charge, and he’d fallen off his horse into the thick mud below with his knee screaming agony at him. His men had rushed past him, and he’d pushed away the few that had stopped to try and help, before the battalion band who doubled as stretcher bearers had reached them. He’d seen Murdock leading the men, Baracus hauling men up who stumbled in the mud. And despite pain and fear for himself, he knew that they had won, that Wellington had won and that Napoleon was done for this time.

“Luckily the good doctors deemed that I could recover after they had dug the ball out of me and keep my leg,” Hannibal said.

“And we’re very glad to hear it, sir,” Baracus said. “How is life treating you in England, sir?”

Hannibal sighed heavily. “I miss the army, I miss my structured life there. Peaceful living seems considerably harder than campaign life.”

“And there’s no way for you to return, sir?” Murdock asked.

Hannibal gave a wry smile. “Alas, no. The British Army has decided that I am no longer of use to them, considering my injury. Peaceful living is what I shall have to get used to now, the only battles that I will see will be at dances and balls, where men are fighting for a young lady’s attention. It is a much more subtle battlefield, one that I do not have much experience of.”

Murdock laughed. “But a battlefield you shall surely conquer, knowing you, sir.”

“You flatter me, Captain. I shall do my best. And now, yourself, are you still with the battalion?”

“Yes, for the moment we are stood down as the threat from old Boney has passed; Horseguards have given us leave until we are summoned to their commands once more. When we heard the news, after returning from Europe, myself and Baracus decided immediately that we would like to visit with you. WE do fear that our arrival has caused consternation with your servants.”

Hannibal laughed. “They do so prefer order and I fear I bring nothing but chaos, but we are muddling along together well so far. You must stay for breakfast, at least, unless you have no lodgings and then I will give you them as I have rooms a plenty.”

“We had presumed to stay in the village at the inn, we don’t want to intrude, sir,” Baracus said and Hannibal waved him away.

“Nonsense, I have more rooms than I know what to do with, it will be good to have some good friends staying with me. And I am no longer your Colonel, you do not have to stand on ceremony.”

“You’ll always be our Colonel, sir,” Murdock told him and the sincerity in his words made Hannibal’s breath catch in his throat.

“Thank you,” he replied and then called Carson to help him settle his two friends into their new rooms.

The morning passed quickly, with Cook rising to the challenge of feeding three instead of one, and taking into account Baracus and Murdock’s voracious appetites, and Carson and the two girls getting two of the many rooms set up for their new guests. They took lunch outside in the garden, enjoying the summer weather and the entertainment afterwards as Murdock inspected the plant life around them and asked the bemused gardener multiple questions about the plants origins that he was happy to answer, and Hannibal and Baracus watched in amusement.

The sound of horse hooves brought Hannibal back to the present and he jerked his head round sharply to see Peck leading Sapphire up the path towards the kitchen, his face schooled into neutrality.

Hannibal stood abruptly, his chair toppling over in his haste, and Baracus and Murdock looked round in surprise at his actions.

“Mr Peck,” Hannibal called out and Peck moved towards them, his eyes darting over the two men standing beside Hannibal before resting on him once more.

“I was unsure if you wanted your afternoon ride, sir, so I thought I would bring Sapphire up just in case,” he said, stopping the horse just at the edge of the grass under the watchful eye of the gardener.

“Thank you; in all the bustle of the day I had forgotten to send a note to you.”

Peck almost flinched at his words. “I can take her back sir, it is no issue.”

“No, no,” Hannibal hurried to reassure him, “you are welcome here. Come, meet my guests, my old comrades, Captain Murdock and Sergeant Baracus. They fought alongside me through Portugal, France and Spain. Captain, Sergeant, my groom, Mr Peck.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Murdock said, moving forward to shake a clearly startled Peck’s hand, Baracus moving more sedately behind him.

“A beautiful horse you have there,” Baracus said and Peck smiled in pride.

“Thank you, sir, she is gorgeous with such a sweet nature.”

“And she’s been helping me with my rehabilitation,” Hannibal said, “slow as it has been.”

Murdock glanced between the two men and came to a decision. “Rehabilitation that cannot be interrupted because of unannounced guests. Hannibal, sir, let us make ourselves scarce and allow you to exercise in peace.”

“Yes, sir,” Baracus agreed, “we can acquaint ourselves with the house and sort out our belongings, perhaps venture down into the village if we are feeling restless.”

“We shall see you for dinner, I’m sure Carson will send word for us if we are needed before then,” Murdock said, already gathering his discarded jacket from the table and beaming widely at Peck and Hannibal. “Do make sure he does not slack off in his exercises, Peck, keep a watchful eye on him.”

“Your concern is touching, Captain Murdock,” Hannibal said to him dryly and Murdock’s laughter could be heard as he and Baracus headed back up towards the house.

Peck flicked Hannibal a look, before choosing a point at the horizon to stare at. “I am sorry if I interrupted sir, I didn’t mean to break up your gathering.”

“Not at all Peck, I was going to send you a note, I did want to speak to you further after our conversation earlier. It was fortuitous of you to bring Sapphire up; my knee will thank you in the long run. Come, I will need to use the step unless I want to embarrass myself in front of both you and Sapphire.”

Peck followed Hannibal with a resigned slump to his shoulders and Hannibal resolved to fix that by the end of the afternoon once and for all.


End file.
